


Sweet Tooth

by Reinamy



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cloud Is Adored By All, Love Pentagon, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, No One Is Immune To His Charms, OT5, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Romance, Slow Build, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinamy/pseuds/Reinamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being sexiled by his roommate, Cloud Strife enters <i>The Goddess Café</i> hoping for a place to kill time, indulge his sweet tooth, and maybe get a bit of studying done, too. He gets all that and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in which angeal becomes infatuated

**Author's Note:**

> I've never had an OT5 before (threesomes have always been my limit) so I'm really excited to be trying my hand at it. Um, this story will be written in small-ish installments, follow a snapshot-like format, and be updated semi-regularly. I have no idea where it's going, only that it is, so...bear with me. :)
> 
>  **ETA:** [Waifujuju](http://waifujuju.tumblr.com/) just gifted me with [the most adorable fanart for this fic ](http://waifujuju.tumblr.com/post/136635313965/more-sweet-tooth-cloud-for-reinamycloud-i-hope) and just please go check it out on tumblr and give lots of love to the artist because she really deserves it! ♥

  


The guy who walked in when the 12:00 p.m. rush finally started winding down was obscenely hot. That's the first thing Angeal Hewley noticed. Quickly following that observation was the thought that he could really use some coffee. And probably a pastry. Or ten.

It said a lot that the guy was still stupidly attractive even with bruises under his eyes, and the too-sharp structure of his face, and the sallow pallor of his skin. If anything, it just made him _more_ appealing. It prodded at the innate caregiver in Angeal, made his protective instincts surge just beneath his skin.

He was staring. He knew he was. The shrewd glances Genesis was sending him was a glaring indicator. Even so, Angeal couldn't bring himself to look away, tracking the guy's movements as he studied the pastries and hoagies behind the display cases and peered at the menu board with a squint that indicated he might be in need of glasses.

When the guy finally stepped up to the front and peeked up at Angeal from beneath long, blond lashes, a jolt of something he refused to name shot down his spine.

"Good afternoon," he said evenly. "What can I get for you?"

The guy's voice was all smooth tenor when he spoke. "I'd like a chocolate-mint latte with whip cream, please. Large. And, uh, three peanut-butter chocolate-chip cookies. Thank you."

Angeal rang him up, charmed by the indicator of a sweet tooth.

"Sure. That'll be five twenty-five." He took the proffered ten, made change, and rather than set it on the counter as he normally would, placed the money directly into the guy's hand. Skin touched, and Angeal bit back a shiver because he was _freezing._

It was almost November. Didn't the guy have gloves?

"One moment, please," he murmured, forcing himself away from the counter. He ignored Genesis' calculating stare as he ambled towards the expresso machine and started coaxing coffee out of it. A swirl of whip cream later, and he set it on the countertop before bending to retrieve the confection. He bagged it, then set it down before the customer, who seemed to be lost in thought.

"Here you go, sir." The guy didn't stir. Angeal cleared his throat and said an octave louder, "Sir?" Nothing, not even a blink.

Genesis snorted beside him, and Angeal shot him a withering look before returning his attention to the guy. Who _still_ hadn't moved. Sighing, he reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm—which was too skinny, he noted absently—and squeezed.

The guy startled, cobalt eyes snapping open and refocusing. He blinked and gazed curiously at Angeal, who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. The guy was _adorable._ Angeal wanted to tousle his crazy bird-like hair and maybe tweak his ruddy nose a little. Instead, he only retracted his hand and gestured towards his purchases.

"Oh," the guy said. Angeal could almost see the realization dawn. Before his eyes, pale skin darkened to a charming crimson and he lowered his gaze, clearly embarrassed. "Thanks."

Angeal watched as he grabbed his things and shuffled across the café, threw himself unceremoniously into a chair, and pulled out a slim laptop from the bag he'd been carrying.

He must have felt a gaze on him because after a moment of tearing into his cookie he lifted his head and looked directly in Angeal's direction. Then promptly froze, flushed a furious red, _glared,_ and hastily wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

 _So cute,_ Angeal thought as several crumbs fluttered to the table.

Thinning his lips to keep from smiling, Angeal purposefully turned around…only to be confronted with the penetrative stare of his lover.

 _Really?_ Genesis' eyes seemed to say, clearly unimpressed as his eyes flickered to The Guy.

Angeal huffed and opted to ignore him


	2. in which genesis becomes intrigued

 

The bells above the door chimed just as a cold draft swept through the café, carrying with it fragments of windswept leaves.

Genesis Rhapsodos instinctively glanced up. And then paused, because the boy from yesterday—the one who had caught Angeal's eye—had just shuffled inside. He was alternating between blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to garner heat, neither of which seemed successful if his miserable expression was any indication.

Genesis watched all of this with grudging amusement.

The boy was cute, he'd give him that, with his wide blue eyes, disheveled hair, and waifish stature. There was an air of innocence about him too, Genesis noted, watching as he bent down to study the pastry display and the tasseled fringe of his scarf brushed the floor.

Honestly, he could see why Angeal was attracted (and he _was,_ regardless his lover's silence on the matter). The boy looked the very epitome of the poor, struggling student, no doubt stirring Angeal's caregiving instincts. Even Genesis, who was hardly the most nurturing of people, had to restrain his impulse to walk over and rearrange the boy's scarf. It was little wonder he was so cold, as he didn't even cover his neck properly. He'd likely get sick within the week, if he wasn't already, and—

Genesis paused as he became aware of the direction his thoughts were heading, then huffed in annoyance. Angeal—and probably Zack, too—was starting to rub off on him. And not in the sensual way he preferred.

He saw to two more customers before the boy finally wandered to the counter. His eyes really were a remarkable shade of blue, Genesis observed absently, before forcefully steering his thoughts in a safer, more _lawful_ direction.

The boy didn't look a day past eighteen, if that.

"Welcome to _The Goddess,_ " Genesis greeted, feeling a familiar thrill sweep through him as the name rolled off his tongue. He'd been the one to choose it—courtesy of winning a deciding game of _rock-paper-scissors_ —and it was one of his better ideas, if he said so himself. Far superior to anything his lovers had come up with, such as Zack's tacky idea of _First Class Café._

"How may I help you?" he added as an afterthought, because even after two years of co-owning the place he still wasn't used to acting so courteous towards strangers.

Blue Eyes—which was ironic coming from him, but the only other names he could think of were _blondie_ or _jail bait,_ neither of which were very flattering—flattened his hands against the glass countertop, leaving smudged imprints that Genesis tried not to scowl at him for.

"I'll have a medium pumpkin-spice latte, please, extra whipped cream. And, uh…two ginger cookies. Actually, make that four. Thank you."

It took supreme effort not to raise his brows. _Someone_ certainly had a sweet tooth. Genesis nodded, rang him up, then went about compiling his order. A few minutes later he set the boy's purchases down directly in front of him.

The boy went for the styrofoam cup first.

Genesis wasn't sure how it happened, only that the boy's hand suddenly jerked, spilling the hot beverage all over it. He hissed, instinctively shaking the appendage and sending coffee everywhere. Any other time Genesis would have been irritated by the mess, but at the moment he couldn't quite manage it over his worry. The skin of the boy's hand was turning an unflattering shade of red, and Genesis prayed to the Goddess that he hadn't been seriously injured.

Getting sued would be beyond troublesome.

"Here, let me see." Genesis seized— _carefully—_ the boy's hand and pulled it towards him to study it critically. The skin was irritated, but it didn't look like it warranted a hospital visit. If anything, his pale complexion probably contributed to the extreme discoloration the most.

Then again, Genesis was only an ex-army café owner, and what he remembered of assessing and treating burn injuries, courtesy of the military's emergency aid classes, was hazy at best.

"Hm. It could be worse. Give me a moment, I'll get some burn ointment from the back."

Without waiting for a reply, Genesis ducked into the backroom and swiftly located the first aid kit. Carried the whole thing with him as he returned to front. He opened the case once it was set down, retrieved a white tube and an XL plaster, and wordlessly beckoned for the boy to extend his hand.

He did so, eyeing Genesis warily the whole time.

With more care than he could remember exhibiting (towards someone who wasn't a lover) in a long time, Genesis smeared the viscid salve onto his skin, gently so as not to cause further harm, and covered it with the plaster. He inspected his handiwork before nodding in satisfaction. Capped the tube and set it, then the kit, aside.

"How does it feel?" he asked, watching the boy stare at his bandaged hand as if he didn't know what to do with it.

He bit his lip and looked up. "It's…okay. Better. Thank you."

_Not angry then,_ Genesis thought. _That's good._

"It's fine," he said dismissively before using two fingers to push the tube to the edge of the countertop. "Here. Take this. I'd also recommend getting that hand checked out, just in case. The injury didn't look _too_ bad, but I'm not exactly qualified to make sound medical assessments, am I?

"And I suppose I could remake this," he added after a moment of deliberation, lifting the styrofoam cup and giving it a small shake. "On the house, of course."

The boy shook his head vehemently, causing his hair to wiggle in a very interesting way. "You don't have to."

Genesis tilted his head. His hair fell into his eyes at the movement, and he irritably brushed it aside. "Do you not want it anymore?"

"Um, not really, no," the boy admitted with a grimace.

_I suppose that's understandable,_ Genesis thought as he dropped the cup into the trash without breaking eye contact.

"Something cold then, perhaps?" he suggested.

The boy started to shake his head, then paused, ostensibly considering the offer. Genesis was treated to the sight of him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before he finally released the plump fold and nodded. The eyelashes through which he gazed up at Genesis really were too long to belong to a man, even one as pretty as him. The contrast of those pale lashes fanning those bright eyes was rather mesmerizing, and it took insurmountable effort not to touch, especially when they fluttered and the light hit them just so.

"I…yeah, okay. If you're sure it's alright…" the boy trailed off, growing rigid under Genesis' stare.

A pointed cough snapped Genesis out of his stupor, and he rolled his eyes at himself, appalled by his apparent lack of equanimity when in the company of—who he grudgingly admitted to being—an attractive boy.

Blue eyes flickered, then narrowed, and it took Genesis a shamefully long moment to realize that he probably thought the gesture had been directed at _him._

Genesis blanked his expression, not wanting to upset the boy further.

He had to wonder why he even cared at all.

"I offered, didn't I?" Genesis said after a beat.

After some coaxing, the boy eventually volunteered the name of the beverage he wanted—an iced chocolate-caramel latte with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Genesis wasn't at all surprised. Still, he kept his opinion of the boy's relentless sweet tooth to himself as he went about preparing it, adding extra sprinkles and cream because after everything that had happened, not to mention the lack of lawsuits following it, he truly did deserve it.

When he returned to the counter, it was to find the boy looking between his injured hand and the bag of cookies with a frown, no doubt wondering how he was going to manage carrying the latte, as well.

" _My friend, the fates are cruel,"_ Genesis murmured to himself, amused, perhaps meanly, by his dilemma.

As soon as the words left his mouth the boy's head snapped up. His expression shifted from confusion to something bordering on surprise. And then, to Genesis' astonishment, he blurted, " _LOVELESS_ , act IV."

Three words, but they were all it took for Genesis' opinion of the boy to _skyrocket_.

"You recognize it," Genesis breathed, something warm and vast travelling from his belly to his chest until he felt almost dizzy from it.

_LOVELESS_ , consummate masterpiece though it was, was not a renowned work—a fact that Genesis would despair over even in the afterlife. It had been the sole work of a hitherto unpublished playwright who also happened to have been dishonorably discharged from the military, and therefore considered wholly disreputable. That it was _also_ unfinished—the final act rumored to have been destroyed in an act of retribution—was something that literary enthusiasts planetwide seemed incapable of overlooking, never mind its _countless_ attributes that made _LOVELESS_ more deserving of being given classic status than most…

Anyway, it was rare to meet someone who was familiar with the play, and rarer still that they knew it intimately enough to identify and place verses. Genesis' lovers could, to an extent, but _only_ because they'd had several years of forceful exposure. He'd seen to that.

"Yeah," the boy said with a smile that Genesis couldn't help but find endearing, especially when his uninjured hand rose to rub his nose. "It's a favorite of mine, actually."

Alright. So perhaps Angeal's tastes weren't _so_ farfetched.

"It's a literary masterpiece," Genesis agreed without hesitation, "parallel to none."

And Genesis realized, somewhat belatedly, just how much trouble he might be in when the boy grinned—eyes crinkling at the corners and a single dimple peeking from his cheek—and Genesis felt his heart stutter in his chest.

_Angeal is going to be insufferable,_ he thought despairingly, before giving in and asking for the boy's name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way to Genesis' heart is through LOVELESS, didn't you know? Lol.


	3. in which zack is hopelessly smitten

 

While Professor Boris ranted about the decline of government efficacy and the consequential surge of widespread political apathy, Zack Fair's gaze kept flickering to the guy seated in front of him, whose movements indicated he was studiously taking notes. Or sketching. It was always one or the other with him.

The guy was the only reason Zack hadn't withdrawn from the class. That had been his intention when his advisor told him he required three additional social science credits but all his preferred choices had been filled. So he'd enrolled in POL100, fully intending to withdraw the moment one of the more interesting courses opened up again.

And then _he_ had showed up and _that_ plan had gone out the window.

From the moment the guy—Cloud Strife, and what an awesome name _that_ was—opened his mouth to answer the professor's question and let loose a series of hiccoughs instead, Zack knew he was done for. The way he'd clapped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, the tips of his ears blazing red, and then sunk into his seat as if he wished it would swallow him whole, was just about the cutest thing Zack had ever seen. It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to reach over and squeeze the guy's shoulder reassuringly.

That, or hug him 'til his feet left the floor and he couldn't breathe.

Cloud was _ridiculously_ cute, and best of all was that he wasn't even _trying_ to be. Unlike Zack, who was well aware of his charm and played on it when it was convenient to do so. Add to that his introverted mien—there was something about the quiet, reserved types that just _got_ to him—and he'd never stood a chance, really.

So for two 75 minute sessions a week, Zack pretended to pay attention to the eccentric professor while he stared at Cloud's profile, admiring the litheness of his body, the dexterity of his fingers, and when he spoke, the smoothness of his voice. Everything about him, from the absurdity of his hair and the brilliance of his eyes to his tendency to daydream and fondness for excessively long scarves, captivated Zack.

He _yearned_ to initiate contact, act on his attraction, determine if he had a chance. Would have, too, if he weren't in an exclusive relationship with three others—one of whom had a wide possessive streak and another who wasn't interested in _boys._

Even so, Zack found he couldn't give up, though it would have been better for all involved if he did. But he _wanted_ Cloud in a way he hadn't wanted anyone, besides his lovers, in _years_. And as anyone even remotely acquainted with Zack knew, he'd never been very good at dropping bones once he got his teeth around them.

He had no intention of figuring it out now, either.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Zack to absolute bits. That is all.


	4. in which cloud is flustered and confused (but mostly flustered)

 

Cloud Strife had long since come to the conclusion that the owners of _The Goddess Café—_ as he'd come to learn they were—were _strange,_ and had to wonder why he kept coming back.

At first, it had been an adequate setting for when his roommate, Reno, sexiled him from their room, which he did often. The café was conveniently located just far enough from the university that it wasn't constantly crowded with other students, yet wasn't out of his way either. It had come highly recommended to him by his friend, Tifa—who _also_ happened to be Reno's girlfriend—and while her tastes in boys was nothing to brag about, Cloud trusted Tifa where coffee was concerned. And so he had checked it out, because the library at their uni was a joke, rowdy regardless the hour, and he wasn't able to eat there besides.

 _The_ _Goddess_ had all the qualities of a typical café—a cozy atmosphere, the ever-present scent of coffee and baked goods, intimate seating arrangements, dim lighting. In the beginning it had only stood out for its appetizing coffee and pastries, neither of which was overpriced (always a blessing for a broke college student). But that was _before_ Cloud had come to know the owners.

Though maybe it would be more accurate to say that the owners had _manipulated_ him into knowing them, with a single-minded focus that was frankly alarming; employing tactics that Cloud never noticed were being used on him until he was caught in the type of conversation one usually wouldn't have with their _suspiciously smug-looking_ baristas. And Cloud—

Cloud wished he knew why.

Why they were expending the effort to get to know him. Why they clearly wanted him to get to know _them_. Why he kept coming back, even when he wasn't being barred from his room, to be pestered and teased and fussed at when his reason for coming in the first place was to find a quiet space to work. 

* * *

November was unnaturally cold. Not even proper winter yet and already the temperature was slipping below forty, which was bad enough without it being windy _too_. Cloud hunched into himself as a particularly icy breeze swept past him, swept _through_ him, effortlessly sinking underneath his clothes and settling deep into his bones.

It was a miserable day for more than just the temp. The sky was a dreary shade of grey, suffused with sullen clouds that threatened rain. The thought of being wet _on top_ of cold was all the motivation he needed to walk briskly, clumsily weaving through the crowds in effort to reach his destination—someplace that was warm and comfortable and had exactly what he needed to allay the insistent gnawing in his stomach.

Cloud turned a corner. Jogged to the end of the block, then stopped. Glanced at the traffic light just as it changed into a warning yellow and then dashed in between cars that were only just starting to slow down. Someone yelled at him, but they, too, were ignored, because he was finally there. _The Goddess Café,_ with its elegant awning and glowing windows, was like a lighthouse in the midst of a storm.

 _I'm starting to sound like Genesis,_ Cloud mused as he pushed the door open and the overhanging bells chimed welcomingly. _If I'm not careful I'll start quoting_ Loveless _every other minute, too._

It was an amusing thought, enough so that it prompted a smile from a face that felt to have been frozen solid.

Once fully inside, Cloud shuffled away from the door, allowing it to fall shut on its own. He took a moment to bask in the toasty warmth of the café. The respite was short-lived, however, as all too soon a familiar feeling of nervousness began to set in. Cloud inhaled slowly, trying to get a good grip on his haywire nerves, then turned around and made his way towards what he was unwilling to acknowledge was the source.

Genesis and Angeal stood behind the counter, their bottom-halves obscured by glass and wood. They watched him approach, eyes full of something that might have been exasperation or fondness or concern. Might've been all three. Cloud was just grateful that he still wore a scarf over half his face so they couldn't see the way his cheeks lit up at being on the receiving end of their attention. It wasn't something he could help. As much as he didn't like to think about it—not in the least because he suspected the two of them were involved—they were both _unfairly_ attractive.

Genesis Rhapsodos, with his red hair and pale eyes and shapely mouth, his body tall and lithe, looking for all the world like a model plucked from the pages of _GQ._

Angeal Hewley, built like a god with facial features to match, except for his eyes, which were a unique shade of silver-grey and always unfailingly warm.

They were too difficult to look at sometimes, like staring into the sun. Other times they were impossible _not_ to look at—like now. So Cloud offered a mumbled greeting and retreated to the cake displays. They were temptations of another sort, but at least these would only hurt his stomach and not his heart.

The sudden thought caught of him off guard, and he shook his head as if to dissemble it. He was being stupid. Maybe Cloud _was_ a smidgeon attracted to the two—he had _eyes,_ okay—but it was just that. Attraction. Certainly nothing he had to worry about being _heartbroken_ over.

_Genesis and his tendency towards melodrama is definitely starting to rub off on me._

Cloud took his time, browsing the entire case and eyeing the confections with growing want. Eventually the gnawing in his stomach made itself known by growling loud enough that he was sure the customers on the opposite side of the café could hear it, so like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, he made his way back.

"Took you long enough," Genesis sniped, impatient as ever. "I thought I was going to go grey before you finally made a decision. I mean, honestly, it's not as if we have much of a selection today."

"Gen, be nice," Angeal admonished, tossing the man an exasperated look before turning his gaze on Cloud. Angeal's eyes shone silver under the fluorescent lighting, but unlike the real metal, were neither hard nor cold. But then, they never were when they were fixed on Cloud.

He eyed Cloud's disheveled scarf, no doubt wanting to straighten it like he'd done many times before, and with a resigned shake of his head asked, "What would you like today, Cloud?"

Cloud wondered why his name, so unremarkable, could sound so _amazing_ when either Angeal or Genesis said it. But that thought, like many of its brethren, was plucked the moment it made itself known and buried somewhere deep.

"Uh," Cloud said, turning his face away from the quicksand-pull of Angeal's eyes before they could drown him. "The carrot cake, please."

"Let me guess. Extra icing and whipped cream on the side?"

"Please," Cloud repeated, feeling himself flush at the note of teasing he could hear.

Angeal chuckled, which only made him _more_ embarrassed. "And to drink?"

"A medium vanilla latte. With...extra whipped cream," he mumbled the last bit into his scarf.

"Of course," Angeal said, doing nothing to hide his amusement. He _always_ seemed amused when confronted with evidence of Cloud's insatiable sweet tooth, for some reason. It didn't make sense—Angeal worked in a café, for Gaia's sake. Cloud couldn't be their only customer with a fondness for sweets. Did he tease the rest of them the way he teased _him_?

The thought made something heavy and uncomfortable settle in his chest, and he unconsciously lifted a hand and rubbed at it, as if to soothe it away.

"What's wrong?" Genesis' voice cut through his reverie, and Cloud looked at him, startled by the sharpness of his tone. But Genesis wasn't looking at him—his eyes were trained on Cloud's chest, or more specifically, on the fist that was rubbing vertical motions into it. "Is your chest bothering you?"

"N-no," Cloud said, dropping his hand quickly as if he'd been caught doing something naughty. His mind worked to come up with a plausible lie. "It's…just an itch. I didn't want to scratch it in public, though, so…"

He forced himself not to fidget under Genesis' penetrative stare, and breathed a mental sigh of relief when the man finally looked away, though not without rolling his eyes and muttering something about "Troublesome brats." Cloud bristled and had half a mind to tell him that he wasn't a _brat_ let alone a _troublesome_ one, but had a little too much sense to do so. Arguing with Genesis was a bit like arguing with a tree—say all you want to it, scream at it until you turn blue in the face, but nothing you do will get it to budge. He'd learned that the hard way.

Angeal returned a moment later, carrying with him a steaming styrofoam cup and a small white box that must have held his cake. He set both items down on the counter and quickly rang up Cloud's order, who quickly fished his wallet out of his left— _no, no, the right one_ —pocket.

Cloud pulled out the required bills and placed them in Angeal's waiting palm, shivering a little when their fingers brushed. It happened often, and Cloud thought it might've been because Angeal's hands were so large. They looked to be almost twice the size of Cloud's, with wide palms and fingers that were both thick and long. They were nice hands, Cloud acknowledged. Strong but not rough, nails healthy and short, and the faintest dusting of hair where the back tapered into his wrist

Once, when Cloud had tripped over his own scarf and nearly face-planted onto the floor, Angeal had saved him by placing a firm grip on his shoulders and hoisting him upright. Cloud could still remember the way those hands had felt on him—enormous and steady, unbearably warm through the thin layer of the shirt he'd worn. Powerful, yet gentle in spite of that.

They really were nice hands.

"Cloud?"

Cloud jumped as his name was spoken too close to his ear, and was mortified to realize that he was _still_ touching Angeal's hand, was practically _holding it_ , the wrinkled bills a feeble barrier between them. He snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned and lowered his face, because that, too, felt to have caught fire. Took a hasty step and coughed.

An unbearable silence stretched between them, more so for the heavy gaze Cloud could feel on him, searing even over the present hotness of his skin. He exhaled shakily and readied himself to apologize, to claim sleep deprivation as an excuse, to grab his purchases and flee, only to be thwarted by Genesis.

Genesis, who sidled up next to him, no consideration for Cloud's personal space _or_ comfort, and promptly began to rearrange his scarf.

" _Infinite in mystery…_ why someone as clumsy as you chooses to wear scarves this long is beyond me," he groused under his breath, shooting Cloud a look of vexation before returning to the task at hand. "Honestly. The least you could do is wrap it properly. Do I need to remind you what happened last time?"

Cloud had no trouble remembering it, though he wished he could. He bit back the sharp retort that hovered on the tip of his tongue because Genesis had unknowingly done him a huge favor by being his usual rude, forceful self, and Cloud seriously owed him one.

"I'm not clumsy," Cloud denied, ignoring the snorts it provoked, "and there's no point fixing it if I'm just going to take it off right away."

Genesis' hands came to a still and his pale eyes rose to meet his. "You're staying, then? Usually you set your bag down first when you do."

Did he? Well, it certainly hadn't been intentional on his part. Leave it to Genesis to notice such a thing. The man was almost scarily observant, Cloud had come to find out. If only he used that power for good instead of _evil_ —like refusing to serve Cloud more coffee on days he'd already had enough—his acumen might be considered an attribute instead of a curse.

Honestly, the plan _had_ been to stay. He'd been forced from his room _again_ and wasn't sure how long it would be until Reno texted him the OK to return. Considering Tifa had only just come back from a three-day trip out of Midgar, he wouldn't bet on it being any time soon.

Still, he hesitated. Cloud _wanted_ to stay. From the sound of things it had already begun to rain, and it wasn't as if he had another place lined up to keep out of it. But…

His eyes slid towards Angeal before he could remember that he was trying to avoid the man. Their gazes met, and Cloud felt his blush return from wherever it had retreated to, seemingly worse after the reprieve. To Cloud's surprise, Angeal's eyes were absent of the discomfort he had expected to find there. He looked as placid, as _warm_ , as ever, one brow raised as if to ask him: _Well?_

Cloud found himself nodding before he was aware of himself doing so. Any remaining trepidation evaporated when Angeal grinned at him, visibly pleased, and without prompting carried Cloud's order to his usual table, a two-seater that stood closest to the counter and somehow seemed to get closer every week. Though Cloud could have been imagining that.

Something brushed his ear, startling him from his wayward thoughts, and Cloud suddenly became aware that Genesis had not moved. He was still there, intruding on his personal space and _touching him_ , only now his fingers were no longer on his scarf but on _him._ Cloud's breath hitched as those fingers traced his skin, skimming the edge of his jaw and eliciting a trail of heat he could feel down to his core.

"You have a mole here," Genesis murmured, seemingly to himself, his eyes fastened on the object of his fascination. "I hadn't realized."

Those striking eyes rose to meet his, and there was something in that gaze, something that made the air in the café swell before disappearing altogether, and Cloud was on the verge of pulling away when Genesis suddenly blinked, shattering the moment. He released a ragged breath and strode away without another word, disappearing into the backroom and taking the tension in the room with him.

"Something wrong, Cloud?" Angeal called out, and realizing that he was just standing there stupidly, Cloud shook his head and somehow managed to make it to the table without his knees giving out on him. Nearly tripped halfway there, unsurprisingly, but Angeal was there, quick and reliable as ever, to steady him before he fell.

"Careful," he chided.

"S-sorry. And thanks," he stammered, letting the man guide him to his seat. Cloud forced himself not to fixate on the strong hands on his shoulders that, for whatever reason, remained on him until he was properly sat.

"Not clumsy, huh?" Angeal teased, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "I need to head to the front to help Gen with the new customers—"

Had more people come in? He hadn't noticed.

"—but wave us over if you need anything." He paused. "Or come to the counter. We love when you're there."

And then he was gone, leaving behind a boy who was too dazed, perhaps even dazzled, to do anything but stare unseeingly at his rapidly cooling latte as his heart performed a drumming solo in his chest.

 _I really need to find another café,_ he thought numbly, bringing the cup to his lips once his fingers no longer trembled. He took a desperate gulp, grateful afterwards that it had cooled some because he would have been in serious trouble otherwise. Genesis and Angeal probably wouldn't give him anything hotter than lukewarm ever again. _Someplace where the baristas are just baristas and don't tease their customers, or pester them, or pry, and definitely don't cause them to have heart palpitations on a regular basis._

Even as he thought it, Cloud knew it wasn't true.

What he'd found in this café—as confusing and frustrating as it was, and as vulnerable and unsteady it made him feel—wasn't something he'd ever give up. Because for all of that, it was wonderful and exciting too, and Cloud…

Well, he'd never been good at depriving himself of the things he craved, even if all he was left with in the end was the lingering taste of something sweet and a painful stomach ache.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this chapter Cloud has been visiting the café for a little over three weeks.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! ♥


	5. in which zack and angeal make a discovery

 

Zack's intricate plans to initiate contact with Cloud Strife went up in smoke when he walked into _The Goddess Café_ one afternoon and saw the guy standing at the counter, his crazy yellow hair a dead giveaway. Zack froze at the doorway, fingers going slack around the strap of his bag, unsure if what he was seeing was real or if he'd fallen asleep in class again and was merely dreaming.

When Angeal— _his_ Angeal—reached across the counter to ruffle Cloud's hair, wearing an expression that Zack was _intimately_ familiar with, he was willing to bet on the latter. So he pinched himself. Hard. Probably _too_ hard because _friggin' ow._ But at least he knew he _wasn't_ dreaming and had the bruise to prove it.

Slowly, Zack made his way towards the counter, eyes automatically sweeping across the café as he took inventory of what tasks needed doing. He noted that the place was busier than usual, with nearly every table occupied. The floor between sections 2 and 3 needed to be mopped, but that would have to wait until the tables—pushed together to accommodate a large group—cleared out. The bag in the recycle bin needed to be replaced before it overflowed. They were running low on watercress sandwiches, but that was Sephiroth and Angeal's area, not his.

That over and done with, Zack's thoughts returned to the current predicament. He stopped an arm's length beside Cloud and waited to be acknowledged, but Angeal didn't so much as glance in his direction. The entirety of his attention was focused on Cloud. Zack would have felt peeved had he room for anything besides disbelief, which grew with each second spent watching his boyfriend tease the classmate he'd been crushing on for the better part of two months now.

But even more shocking was the way Cloud was _reacting,_ face bright over that cobalt scarf he often wore and spluttering with what looked to be equal parts indignation and embarrassment.

When Angeal once again reached out to tug at a spike of his blond hair and Cloud halfheartedly batted his hands away, Zack couldn't remain silent anymore, having finally identified the churning sensation in his chest to be _jealousy_.

Though who he was jealous _of_ , he wasn't sure.

"Hey, Angeal," he spoke up, feigning casualness as he stepped closer to the counter. He fiddled with the strap of his bag as he dragged his gaze from his lover to his…love interest, and said, "And Cloud, isn't it?" as if he hadn't known since the first day of class, hadn't scribbled his name into almost every margin of his notebook, five tiny letters amidst a scattering of ink-smudged hearts. Not that Zack was about to reveal that to him, or anyone else, _ever._

Angeal's eyebrows drew up and he looked between them. "You two know each other?"

"We share a class," Zack cut in before Cloud, who was gazing at him in confusion, could say a word. "Poli Sci," he elaborated for his benefit. "I sit behind you."

Zero recognition. Zack would have felt more disgruntled if he wasn't aware that the other guy spent a good portion of class either with his nose in a sketchpad or his head in the clouds.

"Oh," he said. "Uh, right. "

"I'm Zackary Fair," he said, sticking out his hand, "but you can call me Zack. I work here too, though not usually around this time which is probably why we haven't crossed paths before. Nice to meet you properly."

It was _ridiculously_ adorable the way Cloud looked at his hand as if he didn't know what to do with it. He blinked, and Zack could almost _see_ the lightbulb go off above his head. The blond hurried to take it, only to realize he was attempting to do so with the hand that held a travel mug, and with a stuttered apology, offered his other one.

Zack very nearly melted into a puddle of goo.

If the small noise Angeal made was anything to go by, he wasn't the only one.

Cloud's hands were cold and soft and small in his own. His handshake was surprisingly firm. It was with reluctance that Zack finally let go, though perhaps not as quickly as he should have, and not before giving his hand a tiny squeeze.

Something beeped, and Zack watched as the blond fumbled as he searched for his phone, eventually finding it in his right breast pocket. He pulled it out, swiped the screen, and after a pause, rolled his eyes in obvious irritation and pocketed it again.

"Your roommate?" Angeal asked, bending down to cross his forearms against the countertop. He looked amused.

Zack bit down on his urge to fire off a dozen questions when Cloud grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath and nodded.

"Since I've been _graciously_ allowed back into my room," he said in response, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'll be heading out now. Later, Angeal. And, uh, nice meeting you, Zack. I'll see you in class?"

Zack grinned. "You betcha."

Cloud blinked, startled by his enthusiasm, then nodded once and left. Zack watched him go, tracking his movements as he slipped through the door someone else was holding open and crossed the storefront until he exceeded the boundary of the window and disappeared. He knew Angeal was staring at him before he turned around and met the man's penetrative gaze.

"You're interested in him."

Zack crossed his arms. "So are you."

"Hm," was the man's noncommittal reply. Then, "For how long?"

Zack didn't even consider lying. "First day of class," he admitted, unfolding his arms at the lack of judgment in his boyfriend's eyes. He moved close enough to the counter that his stomach pressed against the glass edge. "I wanted to talk to you guys about him, but…I don't know. I guess I wanted to check him out first. No point in stirring the water if he's not even interested, y'know? I was planning on approaching him tomorrow, actually, but then he was here and…" he trailed off, scratching his cheek in embarrassment at the way Angeal was looking at him.

"It took _you_ two months to muster up the courage to talk to someone?" he asked in a facetious tone that was completely at odds with the weight of his gaze. "You've got it that bad, huh?"

"I do," Zack insisted, planting his hands against the glass. "He's just so…" He groped for words but discarded them as soon as they came, none of them doing his feelings for the blond an iota of justice. But he had to say _something_ , so he settled on saying, "Interesting." And then, unable to help himself, "And adorable. So, so adorable."

"Isn't he, though?" Angeal said, sounding so damn _fond_ that it took Zack off guard. The man was an utter softie at heart, but he didn't care freely in the way that Zack did. Until that moment, he'd only thought himself, their boyfriends, the café, and Angeal's garden (which they were _all_ convinced ranked first in his affections) capable of provoking that particular tone. Yet somehow, Cloud had managed to charm his way onto the list. Zack wished he could be more surprised.

"It's actually really troublesome," Angeal continued. "I'm constantly caught between wanting to put him at ease and flustering him further, and I end up indulging in the latter more often than I care to admit."

They shared an amused grin, but it was short lived.

"I really am serious about him, Ang," Zack said, eyes boring into his. "I know it's not fair on any of you, but I don't want to sit on my feelings any longer."

Angeal ran his fingers through his cropped hair and stayed silent for so long that Zack didn't think he was going to respond. Eventually, though, he sighed and brought his arm down. Rested his hand on Zack's. "Yeah. Me, too."

Their fingers entwined. Zack felt a flutter of hope in his belly at his boyfriend's confession, but it vanished the moment he remembered the other two men in their relationship who'd they'd yet to convince.

"Genesis," Zack said, because that was the _easier_ place to start.

Angeal's expression turned thoughtful, then he slowly shook his head, the corner of his mouth curling up in a wry smile. "Honestly, I don't think he's going to be a problem."

Zack stared at him in confusion, and then it clicked. " _Seriously_? Genesis, _too_?"

"Apparently Cloud is a fan of _LOVELESS_."

He barked an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, that would do it, I guess." He sobered after a moment and pursed his lips in thought. So two down, possibly three, but there was still…

"Sephiroth." Zack's shoulders slumped so dramatically he had to clutch the strap of his bag to keep it from falling.

"Sephiroth," Angeal echoed in agreement, a crease growing between his brows. The sound of rapid tapping met Zack's ears, and he knew without looking that Angeal was drumming the fingers of his free hand against the countertop, something he only did when he was trying to solve a problem.

"He's never going to go for it," he stated, because even if they both knew it, it still needed to be said. He thought of how long it had taken Sephiroth to include him in their circle as a _friend,_ never mind a lover, and found himself repeating, "Never."

Angeal exhaled through his nose. "He can be convinced to _try_ ," he said, his drumming coming to an abrupt halt. When he looked at Zack, his eyes were blazing with determination. "Just as he did with you."

He wanted to argue that it was _different._ That in the beginning none of them had known Zack would join them as a lover, that _that_ particular shift in their relationship had been made long after the four of them had become close friends. Zack didn't _just_ want to be Cloud's friend, though. He wanted to be so much more than that. Angeal clearly felt the same, and providing his hunch about Genesis was true, the two of them weren't alone in that desire.

The bells above the doors chimed before he could utter a word of disagreement, however, and Angeal gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before he moved to the opposite end of the counter to welcome the two patrons who'd just come in.

Zack scrubbed a hand over his face, shoved down the frustration he could feel swelling inside him, and wordlessly slipped behind the counter and through the door that lead to the backroom. He blindly flicked the light switch on and blinked against the sudden onslaught of fluorescent light. He ignored the spots dancing in front of his eyes as he deposited his bag on top of a cluttered shelf, sparing it only a brief glance to ensure it wouldn't topple over, before snatching up a mop and bucket from the corner of the room and preparing both.

He couldn't do anything about Cloud for the time being—not without knowing where Genesis stood, or if Cloud would be amenable to being in a relationship with four other men, or if Sephiroth could even _be_ persuaded—but mopping up the spill in sections 2 and 3, and replacing the recycling bags, and wiping down tables… _that_ , at least, Zack could do.

The rest would have to be figured out after closing time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post this. Now that the holidays are over I should be able to update more regularly. :) 
> 
> If anyone is interested in beta-reading this fic _please_ let me know. I'll love you forever. ♥
> 
> I also added a "slow build" tag because yeah. This story is craaawling. 
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> ETA: I forgot to add, I wrote this [asgzc christmas headcanons thingy](http://reinamycloud.tumblr.com/post/135904993648/an-asgzc-christmas%22)? Check it out if you're interested.


	6. in which sephiroth's possessiveness rears its head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, _kpzske_ , for the beta!

 

Given the number of lovers he possessed, many would find it difficult to believe that Sephiroth was not the kind of man who liked to share. As a child, what few possessions he owned that weren't academic in nature had been precious to him, and he'd hoarded and cherished them as obsessively as a dragon would its gold.

As he grew older and lost his fascination for puzzles and toys, his possessive hoarding tendencies adapted to encompass people. In particular, Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley, who were part of the same cadet squad as him and came to be his first friends, and as time passed, his first lovers.

The unfortunate consequence of being possessive of people was that they, unlike inanimate objects, had the freedom to befriend and interact with whomever they wished. As much as Sephiroth had yearned to, he could not lock Angeal and Genesis away when they focused their attention on people who weren't him. It had been sheer luck that neither seemed interested in expanding their circle for the first five years of their relationship.

And then Zackary Fair came along—with his floppy hair and puppy eyes and dimples—and coiled himself around Angeal's finger and stole a place in the man's heart.

That…had taken some adjusting to. More than _some_ , if he was being honest with himself. In the beginning he'd loathed the boy with a ferocity that could have burned worlds and hadn't done much to hide it. But Zack was nothing if not stubborn, and he'd persisted in his friendship with Angeal regardless. When Genesis eventually fell for the boy's charm and the two of _them_ became friends, Sephiroth had known he'd have to adapt to the shifting dynamic of their relationship, or risk losing his best friends.

So he'd adapted, with all the willingness of marrow being aspirated from bone. In the end it turned out to be one of his better decisions because Sephiroth, perhaps inevitably, grew to love Zack just as strongly and fiercely as he loved Angeal and Genesis. Rather than upset the careful balance of their relationship, he _stabilized_ it. Zack added a component the three of them had been without. He was the one who coaxed smiles from them on days it was hard to even get out of bed, and livened their moods when they turned bleak. Zack pushed them—to live in the present, to find joy in the little things, to laugh when it felt more feasible to cry.

Some nights, when Sephiroth lay in bed with his lovers—head on Angeal's shoulder and arm curled around Genesis' waist and fingers sliding through Zack's hair—he wondered what might have happened had he been unable to surrender, to adjust, to let Zack in. It was an alarming thought, one he was loathe to dwell on, but it would not release him. So he came to view it as a reminder of sorts—that he wasn't infallible, wasn't omniscient, wasn't always right. Genesis, Angeal, and Zack all had unique viewpoints he couldn't always visualize. Perspectives that his sheltered upbringing made difficult to comprehend.

But he trusted them. Knew that everything they did was for their collective well-being _,_ even if it sometimes felt like he was being lead in the dark. He had faith that the hands guiding him would _always_ lead him to a source of light, regardless how uncertain or trying the journey might be.

That trust is what Sephiroth clung to one Saturday morning in December when a blond boy walked into their café and his lovers perked up like a trio of dogs in the presence of meat. His hands froze in the process of setting down a cookie tray as they welcomed him by name and ushered him inside and _fussed—_ even _Genesis_ , in his own coarse way. He watched, unable to control the way his eyes narrowed and lips thinned, because Sephiroth knew his lovers as well as he knew himself, probably more so, and this—this was them showing _interest_ in someone.

Sephiroth could see it in the way Angeal tutted at the boy for forgetting his gloves and hastened to make him something to warm them with, and in the way Genesis sniped at him for being careless even as he fixed his scarf, and in the way Zack ruffled his hair before draping a deliberate arm over his shoulder.

He could see it in the way Genesis unsubtly brushed his fingers against the boy's jaw, and Angeal's hands lingered over the boy's as he offered a cup of something hot, and Zack held the boy a little too tightly as if he didn't want to let go.

A sensation long-forgotten rose in Sephiroth's chest, made it feel heavy and tight and hot, and he set the tray down on the countertop so sharply the impact created a resounding _thud._

The response was instantaneous. At once his lovers went still, ceasing in their fussing and teasing and chatter, and looked towards him with varying degrees of unease. Sephiroth wasn't sure what kind of expression he wore, couldn't focus on anything but the way they were _still_ touching the boy, but he imagined it must've been alarming because they eventually backed up, and off, and away.

Breathing became easier when more distance was put between them, though the awful feeling in his chest didn't subside. It was an incessant throb that worsened as he tore his gaze from his lovers and directed it onto the boy. Sephiroth studied him as if he were an insect pinned to a board—took in the wild windswept hair, the gem-bright eyes, the delicate facial features contorted in wary curiosity—and dismissed him with a turn of his head. Walked away without a word through the back door that lead to their apartment upstairs.

Sephiroth knew he needed to calm down. Needed to get a handle on the possessive jealousy that was making his insides feel too big for his skin. Needed to go somewhere dark and quiet to calm the storm brewing in his head so that it did not gain momentum and extend past those confines. He's irrational when he's like this, equanimity lost to base impulse, and that wasn't what he needed right now. What he needed was to be level-headed for the conversation he understood was still to come.

Because Sephiroth knew his lovers, knew what the subtle nuances in their expressions _meant_ , and had already realized that while they might have backed off, they certainly had not backed _down._

Whoever that boy was, they _wanted_ him.

His nails dug into his palms hard enough to leave indents, but he could barely feel it over the heavy pounding of his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


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